The Science of Deduction
by Muggleborn Weasley
Summary: After an argument in 221B Baker Street, John makes his own little deduction of Sherlock. Johnlock fluff. It's really only T for swearing, nothing else. Enjoy!


Hey there! This is my first Sherlock fanfic and my first story I have posted to this account. I had an account previously, but let's just leave that in the shadows. So yes, enjoy my little fluffy Johnlock piece and please review - it only takes two seconds and it lets me know whether to write more or not. This piece is just a oneshot, but keep your eye out for more from me :)

I don't own Sherlock - obviously. Thanks for giving this a chance :)

* * *

"Sherlock" John called from the kitchen. No response. What a surprise! "Sherlock, what are you doing?" John called again whilst stirring sugar into his tea.

"Thinking" Was the response that came back in that sexy tenor drawl.

"About?" Sherlock had been given a huge case that he refused to even look at properly. He cleared all the police suspects just from being at the crime scene, but hadn't came to any conclusions about who did commit the three, evidently linked, homicides.

"Important things" Sherlock still didn't look at John.

"Like the triple homicide?" John half suggested, in hope.

"No. Even Anderson and his lab monkeys could work that one out. It was the Lord's lover. The gold digger on the side."

"The Lord was having an affair?" John was impressed; maybe Sherlock had got himself un-stuck.  
"I don't know and I really don't care. This case is a waste of my time!" Sherlock was getting frustrated.  
"Whether it is or isn't worth your time is neither here nor there. You need to crack this case. You're three months behind in rent and I don't mind paying it but I can't afford to keep paying it on a GP salary."  
"Oh John, do stop whining. It's irritating and there is no need for it." Sherlock was getting colder and colder with every word he spoke.  
"Sherlock, I know you don't care, but I do. So, if it isn't too much trouble, could you possibly try solving this, or really any, case so you get paid so I don't go bankrupt!" John was getting angrier as Sherlock was getting colder.  
"John, be realistic. We are not going to go bankrupt. Just because I can't solve this-" John cut Sherlock off.  
"So you'll admit that you're stuck?"  
"Not stuck, thinking." Sherlock retaliated.  
"You said earlier you weren't thinking about it. You cannot possibly be both thinking and not thinking about it. You may be a high functioning sociopath, but you are not that high functioning."  
"And how would you know?" Sherlock snarled.  
"Because like it or not, I _am_ your friend and I _know_ you!"  
"I don't have friends." Sherlock laughed coldly.  
"Really Sherlock?" John was instantly calm again, and it was in that moment he realised that he didn't actually have to take this from Sherlock. "I'm going out. Don't shoot anything while I'm gone."  
"Don't shoot anything while I'm gone" Sherlock repeated in a childish voice.  
"Oh grow up!"  
"Solve the case! Don't shoot anything! Grow up!" Sherlock was still mocking John. "If I wanted nagged at all the time I'd still live with my mother!"  
"Oh, piss off!" Neither Sherlock nor John realised how loud Sherlock had been shouting until John spoke so quietly in comparison.

John picked up his coat and the big black golf umbrella from the coat rack.  
"I'm going out." Sherlock didn't respond. John started to make his way down the stairs when Sherlock called him back.  
"John?"  
"What!" He snapped round to look at Sherlock.  
"Get some milk when you're out?"  
"Oh just fuck off!" John shouted back up the stairs. He turned round to see Lestrade at the bottom of the stairs.  
"Trouble in paradise?" Greg asked, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.  
"It would appear my flatmate is the biggest arsehole in Britain." John said as he pulled his jacket on.  
"And in other breaking news, the earth is round!" Greg gasped sarcastically making John laugh.  
"If you're here about the homicides don't get too excited. He's still arsing about pretending he has a clue what's going on."  
"I'm off duty. I'm actually here to ask him a personal favour."  
"Ha, good luck!" John then got louder, making sure Sherlock would hear him, "He's being even more of a prat than usual!"  
"Suck my cock Watson!" Sherlock retaliated like a teenager, making Greg silently piss himself with laughter.  
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of a dramatic exit," John said, not entirely sure why Greg found Sherlock's comeback so funny. Sure, it was out of character, but it wasn't _that_ funny.  
"Not at all, I have a prat to argue with anyway."  
"Wanna get a pint on Friday?"  
"Why not, I'll see you later."  
"Later mate." John made his way onto the streets of London, where the rain was pissing down and everything was grey. _Lovely_ he thought.

It was beyond John why Sherlock was acting so immaturely. Sure, he could be childish, but this wasn't the same type of childish. Sherlock was acting like a moody teenager and John couldn't stand it. Sherlock has been tripping up, not literally, but in his conversations for the past few days. Like he was lying. What was Sherlock lying about?

Just as he was about to cross the street an all too familiar black car pulled up. John no longer even waited for Anthea to get out the car, he just got in when the car got stopped at a red light.  
"Well, what does he what now?" John asked the exceptionally beautiful woman.  
"No idea" she told him, not once looking up from her phone.  
"Can you tell me where I'm going for once?" John thought he might as well give it a shot.  
"Wouldn't tell you if I knew." Once again, she didn't stop typing.  
"So helpful, thank you Anthea." John said sarcastically. John's phone beeped in his pocket indicating he had a text message.

_John, get bread when you're getting milk. It would appear we don't have any. –S_

John just ignored it. If he wanted bread and milk he could go get it himself. What did he think gave him the right to treat John the way he did? All John ever tried to do was be a good friend and flatmate. What a twat Sherlock Holmes was. The great Sherlock Holmes was stuck on a case and because of that he would treat everyone he cared about like shit.

"Get out." She was so friendly; it just warmed John's heart.  
"Here?" John was confused.  
"Yup." She didn't once look up from her phone. They could literally have been anywhere and she just told John to get out the car.

John stepped out of the car, about to ask where exactly he was meeting Mycroft when he saw him. There was definitely something funny going on. Normally, Mycroft only dragged him to obscure and private locations, instead he was standing in Trafalgar Square, in the rain, surrounded by people.

"Mycroft, what's going on?" John asked.  
"I was hoping you could tell me." Mycroft was serious. He had no idea.  
"But the car? Y'know what, I don't even care. I'm beyond pissed with your brother and could do with a pint. Care to join me?" John indicated to a small bar across the street.  
"No use standing in the rain I suppose." Mycroft shrugged.

Sitting in the back corner of a pub with Mycroft Holmes was easily one of the strangest situations John had ever found himself in, but he decided to make the most of it.

"Why are we here?" John asked.  
"You suggested we came in to shelter from the rain and for you to drown your anger in alcohol. Mycroft answered cockily before taking a drink of his whiskey.  
"If I wanted to deal with a smartarse I would've stayed at home. Why did your car bring me to meet you here?"  
"Look." Mycroft handed John his phone.

_It's happening again. I'm getting him out the house. Have the car ready to pick him up. Don't go too far and stay in a crowd. It'll throw him a bit, but at least you won't have to improvise a warehouse speech. – S  
_

"What's happening again? And why have we to stay in a crowd? See if he has assassins living on out doorstep again, I swear to God, I'll kill him before any of them have a chance to cock their guns. Is that why Lestrade was at the house? Mycroft, what's going on?"  
"I truthfully don't know. Calm down and, while I wouldn't normally advise it, drink."  
"But he said 'It's happening again.' That implies you know what 'it' is." In his head, John was calm but he had to admit, he could hear is voice panicking.  
"John just calm down. He didn't tell me what 'it' is, I don't know. But if it's the 'it' I think it is then I can't tell you."  
"I – I don't even know what that means," John shook his head.  
"John, are you and Sherlock okay?" Mycroft looked at John in an incredibly odd way – as if John was about to break.  
"We had an argument, it's not like I'm moving out."  
"Exactly, you had an argument. Why does it always affect you both so badly?" Mycroft was about to start doing his own deduction of sorts, John could just feel it.  
"I don't know? I guess the closer people are the worse it is when they fall out"  
"John, we both know that's a load of shit. Why do you and Sherlock fall out this badly?"  
"Tension?"  
"What creates the tension?"  
"Sherlock being an arse and me being easily irritated?"  
"Partially, but really think about it. Why does it hurt you so much when you and Sherlock fight?"  
"Because he's always so cold. He thinks he's such a smartarse and starts to act like a child. It's so infuriating!" John was starting to get pissed again. He felt bad, he hadn't meant to shout, but he was just so annoyed with Sherlock. "I need to talk to him. I have to find out what's going on." John stood up.  
"Wait!" Mycroft tried to stop him but in that moment his phone made a noise.

_1 new message. Sherlock Holmes._

_Let him go – S_

As Mycroft read his phone went off again.

"Mycroft, stay. Good boy." he read. "Honestly, does he think I'm a bloody dog?" John started to laugh as he thought of Sherlock's facial expression while sending the text. "Well," Mycroft said, "What are you still doing here?" John swore he saw just a flash of a grin on Mycroft's face. Not a cunning one, just a simple, pure and happy smile. There was definitely something funny going on here, and Mycroft knew _exactly _what it was.

John left the pub to find the rain was pounding down twice as hard as it had been. He was about to hail a cab when he saw it. A tall silhouette, standing in the middle of the square. He ran to it. To him. To Sherlock.

"John, I'm sorry."  
"Did Sherlock Holmes just apologise?" John asked in a tone of mock surprise. "You are forgiven, purely on the basis that I know you're sorry and that you were protecting me. Well, I think you were protecting me? Sherlock, I have no idea what's going on even though everyone else seems to. Can you please explain?"  
"I don't know how to." There was something in Sherlock's eyes that John had never seen before. A sign of humanity, of emotion.  
"Why don't you try using words to form sentences? That helps me explain things." John let what was left of his anger out in the sarcastic comment.  
"No. It's too…" Sherlock trailed off turning his head away.  
"Too what?" He didn't show any signs of having heard John. "Can you show me?" At this, Sherlock's head snapped back to face John. His eyes were still full of whatever it was Sherlock was feeling. In that moment something strange happened.

John looked at Sherlock, really looked. John looked at Sherlock in the way Sherlock looked at everyone else.

"Your shoe laces aren't tied tightly or neatly and you have no scarf on. You left Baker Street in a hurry. Whatever you came here to talk about is either urgent or a spur of the moment decision.

Your shirt and jacket are wetter at the front than the back; you ran the whole way here with your coat open. So you are unarmed. If you had figured the case out you would most likely have a gun on you and we'd be on our way to a killer's door. It's most likely not about the case.

Your right hand is moving in your jacket pocket, and a constant and repetitive rhythm and speed. It's either a code for something or you are subconsciously trying to calm yourself down. You've bitten almost your entire bottom lip off, you're nervous. Whatever this is it isn't work related.

Give me your wrist."  
"What?" Sherlock inquired.  
"Just give me your wrist." Sherlock took his right hand out of his pocket John then put his fingers to the pulse point. After a moment or two he then continued.

"Your pulse is elevated. Given that you just ran here from Baker Street that makes sense, but you are not out of breath."

Sherlock yanked his hand out of John's and stuffed it back in his pocket. Sherlock knew John had it all figured out. He knew what was coming next.

"Your pupils are dilated." John said quietly. He was now starting to worry. Was deducing Sherlock one step too far? Well, he couldn't really help it. It just happened. "When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth" John quoted. "So, are you going to say it?"

Sherlock glanced at John, quickly, head to toe. One scan that anybody, even Sherlock himself, would have missed if they didn't have direct contact beforehand.  
"Is it that hot when I deduce you?" Sherlock cocked his head cheekily, like a puppy.  
"Oh shut up and kiss me you idiot!"

And that idiot didn't have to be told twice.

* * *

Well? Was it awful? _MW_


End file.
